


Like A Good Neighbor, Steve Rogers Is There

by sadsongssaysomuch



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, M/M, Musician Bucky Barnes, State Farm AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 03:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2295458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadsongssaysomuch/pseuds/sadsongssaysomuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Steve Rogers answers calls at State Farm and Bucky is something of a repeat caller.</p><p>from a prompt on tumblr that asked for a State Farm AU</p><p>this story kind of took on a life of it's own</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

 “Thank you and you have a nice day,” Steve says, smiling as he ends the call. It might not have made a difference, but he’s been trained to end every call that way and that’s what he does.

Adjusting his headset, Steve leans back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling tiles. He already knows the one directly above him contains two hundred-and-eighty-six tiny holes. He still counts them every time he’s got a lull between calls.

It’s strange because it’s nearly three in the morning, but he doesn’t have a long wait between calls.

“Thank you for calling State Farm. This is Steve, how can I help you today?”

“Hi, I’m calling to uh, report an accident?”

“Can I have your name and policy number, Sir?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, it’s James Barnes, and the policy number is three – two – five – five – seven – one – zero- seven.”

He rattles off the numbers quickly, but Steve’s used to that and he enters the information without a problem.

“Okay, Mr. Barnes. What’s the nature of the accident?”

“Well, Steve, I sorta ran my motorcycle into a pole.”

Steve holds back a chuckle, it’s not professional to laugh at people’s accidents. “Motorcycle into a pole. And were there any other parties involved?”

“Nah,” Mr. Barnes says. “Just me.”

“And do you need to make any injury claims?”

“What? Oh, yeah. I guess so. I um, kinda scraped up my hands and had to go to the emergency room.”

Steve’s entering all the details as Mr. Barnes gives them to him. “Mr. Barnes, I’m going to transfer you to the claims department and they’ll get the process started for you, unless you have any other questions?”

“That’s fine,” Mr. Barnes says wearily. “Thanks for your help, Steve.”

“Not a problem, Mr. Barnes,” Steve says. He poises his finger over the button to transfer the call. “I’m transferring you now.”

* * * *

Five months later, Steve is counting the same holes in the same ceiling time. Again.

As he waits for his line to ring again, he hears the voice of one of his co-workers over the constant low-level chaos of phones ringing and people talking.

“No sir, I understand. Of course, sir! Would you like to speak to my manager?”

Steve shakes his head at Sam. He’s a good operator, and usually one of the calmest people you’d ever talk to. But rude callers happen to everyone, and everyone has their own unique way of dealing with them. Sam’s method was to “kill them with kindness.” No matter how nasty or loud a customer got, Sam stayed polite, the only way you could tell Sam was dealing with an irate customer was that his volume increased. The louder Sam was, the more awful you knew the person on the other end of his line was.

Steve leans back again in his seat, peering around his cubicle wall. Around the corner, Sam’s wearing an exasperated look as he tried to calm down whoever was on the line.

“Of course, the customer is always right!” Sam says in a loud, cheerful tone. Steve has to wonder how that sounds on the other end of the phone, if it’s that loud in the room. After a few more minutes of Sam practically shouting, he pulls off his headset and leans back in his chair. Wearing a satisfied grin, Sam turns to Steve. “See, works ever time,” he says at a normal volume.

Steve goes back to counting the holes in the ceiling tile. Recounting them. He doesn’t quite have Sam’s knack for dealing with irate callers. It’s a shame he’s not allowed to bring his sketchbook to work, he’s certainly got plenty of time between calls.

A few minutes later and the light on Steve' phone lights up. He takes a breath to prepare himself, hits the button and puts on his best smile.

“Thank you for calling State Farm. This is Steve, how can I help you today?”

“Hi, Steve. I’m calling because I was um, looking over my bill and I had some question. Like I was kinda wondering if I was eligible for any discounts? Can you help me with that?”

Steve feels a flush of relief knowing that this caller wasn’t likely to shout at him. He recognizes this voice. Without realizing it, he relaxes into a more casual attitude.

“Of course, that’s why I’m here,” he says, smiling again. Steve fields calls like this all the time so he’s not surprised by the chuckle that come back across the line.

“Right, cool. I was expecting to get transferred to some cranky old lady who would tell me no.”

Although Steve knows he has co-workers that absolutely are like that, he sits up a little straighter, proud that he’s not cranky sounding.

“Ah, well thank you,” he says, not quite smoothly. Silence settles over the conversation before Steve realizes that he’s supposed to be helping this customer. Fortunately, his training kicks in before the caller hangs up. “What can I help you with today?”

More silence follows his words, before Steve realizes that he’s already asked that question.

“Ah, discounts? It’s been two months since my last accident and I wondered if I could get any discounts,” the man finally speaks up.

Steve releases a silent sigh of relief. Now they’re back on track. “I'd be glad to check and see if there are any discounts you’re eligible for. Give me your name and policy number then it’ll just be a moment while I bring up your account.”

“Sure. The name’s Barnes, James Barnes. Policy number is three – two – five – five – seven – one – zero- seven.”

Steve has to ask even though he already knows he’s talking to Mr. Barnes. He has a knack for remembering callers and he’s talked to Mr. Barnes plenty of times before, he’s handed him off to the claims department more than once. If his memory serves him right, there were quite a few incidents involving Mr. Barnes’ motorcycle. Usually single vehicle collisions and never any injuries involved. Well, beyond Mr. Barnes himself occasionally. “It should just be one second,” he says as he enters the information into his computer.

“Alright, I’ll time you,” Mr. Barnes says and then laughs at his own joke.

Lucky the system is pretty fast, so it only takes a minute to open his account, not making a liar out of Steve.  “Mr. Barnes, could you please confirm your account information for me?” Steve asks.

“It's Bucky Barnes,” he replies, and Steve thinks he must have misheard him for a moment.

“Okay, so that's Bucky and not James?”

“Yeah. Oh, I mean no. Well, yes… okay, sorry, my first name is James, but everyone calls me Bucky.”

“Oh, okay, Bucky,” Steve murmurs, making a note in his file. He’s talked to this man probably six times before and he’s never heard him call himself Bucky. He moves on to the next standard question, “I see here you own a motorcycle, are you also a homeowner?”

“No, I rent.”

Steve keys in some information. “Okay, Mr. Barnes. Do you have any renters insurance?”

“I don’t, I mean, _I_ don’t, but my roommate pays for the rental insurance right now. But I found a place that I can afford on my own and I’m thinking of moving soon. And please, call me Bucky,” he adds.

Now, the man was quiet as Steve scrolled through itemization on his bill.

A female voice speaks up from the other end of the phone. “Who are you talking to?”

“Steve from State Farm,” he hears Mr. Barnes say.

“I'm seeing here that if you were to add renters insurance to your policy, it would only cost you about ten dollars more a quarter because then you’d be able to qualify for a multi-policy discount,” Steve says, ignoring the other conversation Mr. Barnes is having.

“That sounds like a really good deal,” Mr. Barnes responds.

“Seriously,” the female voice comes again. “Steve from State Farm? It’s three o’clock in the morning!”

“Excuse me,” the female voice says directly in his ear now. “Who is this?” There’s the sounds of a scuffle in the background, and he hears Mr. Barnes’ voice. “Natasha! Give me the phone!”

“Who is this, really?” the woman demands.

“Steve, from State Farm,” he says, unsure of what’s going on.

“Really? Well then what are you wearing, Steve from State Farm,” she asks.

“Uh, khakis?” Steve answers truthfully. Even though customers never see them, all call center employees wear the same uniform, khakis and a red polo shirt.

“She sounds hideous,” the woman, Natasha, says.

Steve heard a frustrated shout. “That’s because Steve is a guy!”

“Oh, well then he sounds pretty cute,” Natasha says with a chuckle.

Then Mr. Barnes is back on the line. “I’m really sorry about that, my roommate is insane.”

Instead of commenting, he decides just to pretend it never happened. “Is there's nothing else I can help you with today?”

“No, that’s it I guess. Thanks, Steve. You've been very helpful.”

Steve can't help the wave of warmth he feels in response to the man’s genuine gratitude.

 “It was my pleasure, Mr. Barnes. Please let us know if there is anything else we can help you with and thank you for doing business with State Farm. Have a nice day!”

The call ends without any sort of goodbye, but that's fairly typical. Steve leans back in his chair with a ridiculous smile he can't quite wipe off his face, even when Sam peers over his cubicle wall.

“Did I hear someone ask you what you were wearing?” he asks with a wide grin.

“I guess? I think it was a misunderstanding,” Steve replies with a shrug, and tries not to laugh when Sam adopts a look of fake shock.

Before he can say anything else, a new voice speaks up. “Gentlemen, is it break time already?”

Steve jumps in surprise but Sam only rolls his eyes when he sees their floor manager, Clint Barton standing by the cubicle.

“Hey, Clint,” Steve says. “I was just explaining to Sam a misunderstanding I had during my last call.”

Barton frowns, a look he wears often, but after a tense moment, he simply gives them both a withering look and shakes his head.

“Fine, just don’t miss any calls,” he says before stalking off.

Sam hangs over the wall, still staring until Steve clears his throat.

“Better get back to work,” Sam says, turning away. Before he disappears out of sight, Sam adds, “Next time, just do what I do, _kill ‘em with kindness_.”

Shaking his head, Steve turns back to his own desk just as his line rings again.

* * * *

Three days later, Steve’s counting the holes in the ceiling tile again when the light on his phone appears. He hits the button to connect the call, glad for a reprieve from the monotony.

“Thank you for calling State Farm. This is Steve, how can I help you today?”

“You’re way too cheerful for this time of night,” says a familiar voice.

 “Hello, Mr. Barnes. What can I do for you today. I’m wearing khakis again, in case your roommate is curious,” he responds jokingly. He’s delighted when it earns him a laugh in response.

“It’s Bucky, remember? And yeah, no. Actually she’s the reason I’m calling,” he says. “She thinks I should ask you out.”

This catches Steve off guard. He’s more thrown than when someone starts yelling at him. None of their training had covered this. “Um, Mr. Barnes, we don't… I mean, I can’t, I don’t think we’re supposed to...”

“ _Please_ , call me Bucky. You can say no, I _told_ Natasha she was crazy, but she thought you sounded like a nice guy and she basically twisted my arm to call you back.”

“Listen, Bucky you seem like a nice enough guy… I’m just not sure,” Steve trails off, feeling Sam’s eyes on him from over the side of the cubicle. He looks up at Sam who's mouthing the words “Go for it!” at him silently.

“So, would you want to go out for lunch, maybe at that diner on 7th and Chestnut Street tomorrow? Say at noon?”

Steve’s glad they’re having this conversation over the phone, that way he’s not making a fool of himself in front of Bucky. He’s worked for State Farm for three years and he’s never had anyone ask him out on a date before.

“Are you still there, Steve?”

Hearing his name, the way it rolls off Bucky’s tongue, brings him to his senses. “It’s um, very flattering of you to ask Mr. Barnes, Bucky… um, I guess I do have to eat lunch. So if we happened to be at the diner at the same time, who knows, maybe we _could_ eat lunch together.” Before he changes his mind, or gets caught taking a personal call he decides to end the conversation. “So, um, thanks for calling today and thank you for choosing State Farm.”

He waits for Bucky to say something, to hang up or to call him out on his vague answer. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to wait too long.

“Have a nice night, Steve. See you tomorrow.”

Steve’s left staring at his monitor wondering if he really believes what just happened.

Sam peers over the cubicle wall again. “Did I just hear what I thought I heard?” he asks.

“That depends on what you thought you heard.”

“If I’m not mistaken I heard you agreeing to meet someone for lunch?”

“Yeah, that’s about it,” Steve admits. “Am I crazy? I’ve barely spoken to this guy and he called back just to ask me out? And I said yes.”

“Crazy, sure. But what fun is life if you can’t be a little crazy now and then,” Sam tells him.

“Oh my god, what if he’s some kind of weird creep?”

“You mean the kind of weird creep why asks out a guy who’s helping him with his car insurance policy?” Sam says with a smirk.

“Oh man,” Steve says, burying his head in his hands. “What if he takes one look at me and changes his mind?”

“Wait, are you more worried about him looking freaky or him thinking you look freaky?”

“Aaaugh, I don’t know! I’m not exactly a prize. I know I’m a scrawny asthmatic that’s so pale I’m—”

“Practically reflective,” Sam supplies helpfully. “Calm down Steve, there’s nothing wrong with the way you look, and I’m sure he’s fine too.”


	2. Chapter Two

What Steve neglected to mention and Bucky neglected to ask, is that for Steve, noon usually means he’s asleep. He only gets off work at six in the morning, so for him, noon feels like the middle of the night.

It wasn’t a problem though, since Steve can’t seem to sleep anyway. Dressed casually in dark jeans and a plain white t-shirt, he leaves his apartment early. That way if Bucky does flake on him, or if he decides to bail on Bucky, at least he can get it over with sooner and go home to try to get some more rest.

The diner was nothing special. He’s eaten there before, but usually on his lunch break in the middle of the night, not during actual lunchtime hours. During the day it looks a lot less… quaint than at night. If Steve didn’t eat here somewhat regularly he might hesitate on the grounds that it looked like the kind of place you could get food poisoning.

He checks his watch before going inside. It’s 11:30, he’s plenty early. Surprisingly, for as close to lunch as it is there aren’t many customers. There’s a frazzled looking woman with two young kids in a booth by the window, a gray-haired man at the counter and someone wearing a ball cap in the corner booth by the back.

There's a sign saying, “seat yourself”, so that’s what Steve does. He sits at the counter, down by the end, so he has a clear view of the door. He’s a little close to the booth where the guy in the ball cap is sitting, but he doesn’t think Bucky would be here this early too. It dawns on him that maybe this was poor planning, he has no idea what Bucky looks like and Bucky has no idea what he looks like.

A waitress approaches the counter, wearing a yellow polyester uniform. Her name tag tells Steve that her name is “Angela.” He hasn’t seen her before, so she must not ever work the night shift. Angela is persistent, so Steve orders a turkey sandwich on rye with a side of fries. He sits and sips his drink, scanning the street outside the doorway.

“Steve?” A familiar voice with a curious edge to it comes from the corner booth where ball cap guy is sitting.

Steve turns, taking in dark hair and a pair of cornflower blue eyes beneath the cap as Bucky approaches him. Wow, Bucky is gorgeous. He’s wearing a pair of well worn jeans, a gray pullover and black boots and Steve can feel his chest tightening. Out of habit he pats the inhaler in his pocket reassuringly.

“Mr. Barnes,” he says, offering him the stool next to his.

“Bucky, remember.”

“Right, of course, sorry. Bucky.”

Steve feels awkward and unsure of what to do next when Bucky places his drink on the counter next to him and holds out a hand for a handshake.

Steve accepts the gesture, feeling Bucky’s firm grip and praying his hands aren’t too sweaty. His heartbeat starts to go crazy as Bucky lets go, sliding his fingers across Steve’s palm before he takes the offered seat.

“You came,” he says, taking off the ball cap and placing it on his knee.

“Well, I figured I’d come grab lunch anyway. I eat here on my break sometimes... ‘m not usually here when the sun is out though.”

“Oh, right wow. I never even thought of that! You probably keep strange hours, huh?”

Steve flashes Bucky a sheepish smile before he answers. “Yeah, this is about the time I’m deep asleep, most days.” He shrugs and then takes a sip of his drink. He doesn’t mention that Bucky must keep weird hours too, to be calling during Steve’s shift.

“So, what made you decide to come?” Bucky asks.

“Mostly out of curiosity. I couldn’t sleep,” he explains. “I figured either you wouldn’t show and I could get something to eat and go back to bed, or you would and... I don’t really know what I thought would happen if you did show up.”

Bucky shrugs too and sips his own drink. “I wasn’t sure what would happen if you showed up either. I figured you’d think I was crazy and just make sure you never took a call from me again.”

“Not gonna lie, that call where your roommate took over and asked me what I was wearing was definitely the weirdest thing that’s ever happened,” Steve chuckles.

Bucky snorts, nearly choking on his drink, but manages to compose himself and his lips curl into a smile. “Yeah, my apologies for Natasha. She means well, I guess, but she has absolutely no—”

“Filter?” Steve can't resist the opportunity to tease Bucky.

“Yeah, pretty much,” he agrees.

The waitress, Angela, brings Steve’s food then, Bucky’s too and they share a laugh over the fact that they both ordered the same thing.

“So what's your secret?” Bucky asks, after they’ve had a chance to start on their sandwiches.

“My secret?”

“How do you handle crazy customers? I mean, assuming they’re not all as crazy as Natasha.” Bucky asks.

“Practice, I guess,” he answers truthfully. “I mean, there are always rude people, but I don’t seem to get ‘em too often.”

“How long have you been working there?”

“Three years.” He laughs when Bucky raises his eyebrows. “It's pays the bills. And I don’t mind the hours, I’m more of a night owl anyway.”

“I guess that would help,” Bucky says, flashing Steve a dazzling smile.

Steve knows there’s a blush creeping across his face, but he’s not even sure why it’s happening.

He focuses on his sandwich then, as he tries to think of what to say next.

“Would you like to have a late dinner some time?” Bucky asks suddenly. “I mean, if you’re more of a night owl, and you have a night off work?”

Steve nearly chokes in surprise before he can swallow the bite he's in the middle of chewing. He coughs, frantically reaching for his drink to try to clear his throat. He only manages to knock it over, spilling it across the counter, drenching both his lap and Bucky’s.

Bucky scrambles for the napkins, grabbing a handful to try to sop up the mess on the counter. All he succeeds in doing is pushing the liquid off the counter onto Steve’s already wet lap.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Steve apologizes, finally over his coughing fit. He grabs a handful of napkins and is already pressing them to Bucky’s crotch before he realizes what he’s doing. Steve drops the napkins like they’re on fire. “I’m really sorry,” he apologizes again.

Bucky’s lips curl into a lazy grin. “Steve, calm down. It’s fine, I’m just a little wet.”

Steve feels the blush creeping into his cheeks again as he tries unsuccessfully to dry himself off. “These napkins kinda suck,” he mutters.

“Well, I’ll still leave a nice tip, shitty napkins or not, we kind of made a huge mess,” Bucky says, winking as he reaches for his wallet. “I guess lunch is over. So, what are your feelings on going to dinner with me?”

“I think I’d like that, actually,” Steve says after another moment.

Bucky grins again. “When are you free? Sunday night maybe?”

Steve considers this. Sunday is kind of an odd night for a date, but he does have off work. And if Bucky still wants to go out to dinner with him after the spectacle he just made of himself, then why not. There’s no denying that Bucky is hot. “Sunday would be perfect,” he finally says.

Steve pays for his meal, only after pretesting that he really doesn’t expect Bucky to buy his lunch. Bucky only gives in when Steve promises to let him leave the generous tip. They make plans to meet at a restaurant that’s not as run down as the diner and exchange numbers.

There’s an awkward moment where neither one of them knows how to say goodbye. Finally Steve sticks his hand out, mirroring the handshake Bucky had offered him as a greeting.  He isn’t sure if it’s the right way to end a date, but then again he isn’t sure whether what they just had could really be called a date.

Bucky smiles that same curling grin and takes Steve’s hand. He returns Bucky’s grin with one of his own as a tingle shoots through him when this handshake is less awkward than their first. Less awkward and more… intimate.

“See you Sunday then?” Bucky asks.

“I’ll be there,” Steve replies, finally breaking the handshake.

Bucky flashes him another curving grin before they part ways.

Steve can’t help but watch him walk away, and it’s more than a little flattering when Bucky turns and waves, flashing him one more grin before he disappears around a corner.


	3. Chapter Three

Sunday is three days away, and for Steve, those three days feel longer than usual. It doesn’t help that every time Steve thinks of Bucky he gets a happy tingle when he remembers the way he smiled and waved at him after their lunch.

As Sunday evening and the date draws closer, Steve comes to the realization that he had no idea what to wear.

Khakis and a polo shirt seem too boring because that’s what he wears to work every day. He’s not sure whether he should wear a tie, but he knows a full suit is probably overkill. The restaurant he's meeting Bucky at isn’t too swanky, but it’s definitely dressier than jeans.

Steve frowns as he looks through his closet. Maybe I should call Sam, he thinks. If he were here he could find the perfect outfit. Sam’s sense of style is spot on and yet he makes it look effortless. He’s constantly telling Steve, think clean and classic, and stick with the basics.

He’s _not_ calling Sam though, he doesn’t need to hear his teasing over the phone. So, with Sam’s advice  in mind, Steve looks through his closet again. Glancing at his watch he realizes that if he wants to shower before dinner he doesn’t have much time to decide. Okay, decision time. He reaches for a dark gray pair of dress slacks and a light blue button up. Sam’s always telling him to wear more blue, that it brings out his eyes. He runs the tie debate through in his head one more time before a look at his tie rack tells him that all of his ties are either horribly outdated or wouldn’t match. All right then, decision made.

Steve rushes though his shower, not wanting to be late. The restaurant is only a few blocks away, close enough that he’s walked there before, but he’d rather drive and arrive early than keep Bucky waiting. As he looks for a spot in the parking lot, Steve finds himself scanning the spaces for Bucky’s motorcycle. He notices that there are a distinct lack of motorcycles in the lot as he finally finds an empty spot.

Steve hesitates after getting out of the car, debating whether or not to wait or go inside. He decides it’s safer to go inside, that way if Bucky isn’t here yet, he can get them a table.

Smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirt, Steve takes a deep breath and enters the restaurant. The hostess smiles at him at him as he approaches. “Good evening, sir. Table for one?”

“No, um, two actually, I'm supposed to be meeting someone here. I’m just not sure if he’s here yet”

“Of course,” she says, as she checks the seating chart. “Can you tell me the name of your party?”

“Um, Barnes, I guess? That’s his last name.” Nerves hit him suddenly and he prays he’s not going to start sweating through his shirt.

“Ah, right here he is,” she says, pointing a finger to table thirteen. “If you go past the bar and make a left, you’ll find your table there.”

“Thanks,” he says, flashing a grateful smile. He heads in the direction she indicated and follows a hallway towards another dining area. It’s a part of the restaurant that he’s never been in before, a cozier, more romantic part.

He sees Bucky immediately, seated at a table for two. His back is to Steve, and he’s already looking at a menu. Steve takes his time, not wanting to trip and make a fool of himself in front of Bucky again.

Bucky glances up as Steve reaches the table and a  lazy smile spreads across his face, sending Steve’s heart into overdrive.

“You made it,” Bucky says.

For a moment, Steve wonders if maybe, just maybe Bucky is as nervous as he is. After all, he’d only asked Steve out because his roommate had made him.

“Yeah, I live pretty close and I didn’t want to be late. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“I wanted to be early too, so, no, you're right on time.”

Steve sits down and starts to look over the menu, but not before stealing another glance at Bucky. Apparently they’d been of similar minds, Bucky is wearing a pair of black dress pants and a crisp, white button down. His sleeves are rolled up the elbows, showing off his muscular forearms and the white shirt sets off his light tan and dark hair perfectly. Realizing he’s been staring,  Steve forces his eyes back down to the menu before Bucky catches him.

“So, are you enjoying your day off?” Bucky asks after a few minutes.

Steve looks up from the menu. “Any day I’m not at work is a good day.”

“Right, no dealing with customers or their crazy roomates.” Bucky chuckles, making a joke at his own expense.

“How about your day? Has it been a good one?” Steve asks, feeling bold.

“It’s going pretty good right now,” Bucky says, his lips curving into that smile that Steve is beginning to love.

The waiter chose that moment to arrive, forcing Steve to make a hasty decision about what he wants to order.  “I’ll have the Chicken Monterey,” he decides.

“Anything to drink with that?” the man asks Steve. Somehow he failed to notice that Bucky already had a beer in front of him.

“Just water, with lemon, please.”

Bucky places his order, choosing a different chicken dish, one with mushrooms and then the waiter takes their menus and leaves. When she's gone they're cast into an awkward silence.

“So,” Steve begins, trying to break the ice, “you already know what I do for a living. What about you?”

Bucky's lips quirk into a wry smile. “I’m in a band,” he says proudly.

“Wow, really? What do you play?” Steve’s a little surprised at the thought of Bucky being a musician, he hasn’t thought too hard about what he might do, but musician wasn’t even on the list.

Bucky takes a sip of his beer, smiling as he sets the bottle back on the table. “Guess.”

Steve thinks about it for a minute. Honestly he could picture Bucky playing just about any instrument. “I dunno,” Steve says at last, shrugging. “The drums?”

Bucky laughs. “Nah, good guess though. I’m mostly a guitar player. Piano sometimes too, but that’s not really a band thing, more like for my own pleasure. I give piano lessons too, that’s how I pay the bills”

“Wow, that’s really cool,” Steve says, then immediately regrets his choice of words. Now that he knows, he can picture Bucky playing guitar. But it’s more interesting thinking about his long fingers moving over the keys on a piano. “Does your band ever play anywhere around here?”

Bucky flashes a smile that’s more of a grimace “No, actually we’re kind of trying to find a new lead singer right now.”

Steve’s a little disappointed so he simply nods sympathetically.

“You don’t happen to sing, do you?” Bucky asks hopefully.

“Me? No way,” Steve says with a laugh. “You definitely don’t want to hear me sing.”

Their food arrives shortly then, along with Steve’s drink and another beer for Bucky, so they both turn their attention to their meals.

After a few bites, Bucky breaks the silence. “So have you lived around here your whole life?”

“Nah, can’t you tell from the accent? Brooklyn born and raised. My ma always said you can take the boy outta Brooklyn, but you can’t take the Brooklyn out of the boy.”

Bucky's eyebrows shoot up. “Are you kidding me? Me too!” he exclaims. “I’m from Brooklyn too.”

“Hah, small world I guess," Steve says, suddenly self conscious.

“So, ah,” Bucky asks, when he's recovered from the surprise. “What brought you here?”

Steve grins cheekily, deciding to turn the tables on Bucky. “Guess.”

Bucky laughs, throwing back his head his head back, a sound that makes Steve's heart stutter.

The flush is back in his cheeks and once again he’s wishing he had said something different.

“Hmm...” Bucky hums, trying to think.

As Bucky rubs his chin, Steve can’t help but notice his fingers, the ones that probably look amazing strumming a guitar or pressing the keys on a piano. Unfortunately this only makes Steve blush more. He takes a gulp of his water, hoping to cool himself down.

“Well, I’m guessing it wasn’t to work for State Farm,” Bucky finally says.

“Yeah, not quite. I came here for art school. And then when I graduated and had to start paying back my loans, that’s when I took the job at State Farm.”

Bucky smiles easily. “Art school? Really?” Bucky pauses to take another drink of his beer. “So what do you do, draw, paint, like digital art?”

“A little bit of everything. Sketching by hand, pencil and paper, that’s my favorite, but I’m happiest when I’m doing any kind of art, it doesn’t matter what,” Steve said. He’s grinning now, art is his favorite thing to talk about. “I thought maybe with an art degree I could teach or something. I’d love to teach kids about art. I know, I know, so naive, right? So anyway, that’s my thrilling tale,” Steve says, flashing a cheesy grin.

Bucky laughs at Steve’s exaggerated expression, sending Steve’s heart into another round of palpitations. It’s only the waiter’s return, to clear their plates and offer the dessert menu, that calms him down.

There were more than a few tempting things on the menu, Steve isn’t usually a big fan of desserts, but he knows it would extend the date if they do order something. He thinks that might be too desperate though, so he’s about to decline when Bucky points out something called “Towering Chocolate Cake.”

“Hey, do you maybe want to share this?” he asks Steve.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve says, excited by the prospect of chocolate cake, his weakness, and sharing it with Bucky.

When the waiter leaves again, Steve returns his attention to Bucky. “So, I told you how I ended up here, do I get to hear your story too?”

Bucky grins, accepting the challenge. “No big secret really, I came out here after high school. You know, big dreams of starting a band and being a rock star. Sounds like my plans are working out about as well as yours.” Bucky leans forward, covering Steve' hand with his own. “No offence,” he adds.

He holds Steve's gaze for a moment before sitting back and moving his had away. .

“Well at least you didn’t spend thousands and thousands of dollars on a degree that’s not doing you any good, so I still think I have you beat,” Steve says.

Bucky laughs, leaving Steve pleased that he got the reaction he was hoping to get.

The waiter brings the chocolate cake and Bucky immediately digs in. Steve takes a bite, enjoying the sweet, smooth cake on his tongue. But what he enjoys more is watching Bucky eat the cake. Every time he lifts the fork to his mouth, Steve’s eyes are drawn to his mouth. The way his lips part for the fork, the appreciative noises he makes as he savors the rich, chocolate cake. It’s a quick leap from there to imagining how Bucky’s lips would feel on his. How Bucky might taste if they were to kiss.

Luckily the cake seems to distract Bucky, leaving Steve to stare. He’s not even sorry that Bucky eats most of the cake himself, it’s worth it.

Bucky slides the last bite onto his fork, then looks down at it. “Hey, Steve, you want the last bite?” He holds his fork out, offering it up to Steve.

Steve nods, unsure if he can actually get his voice to work.

Bucky smiles his gorgeous smile as Steve opens his mouth, parting his lips to accept the bite of cake. His mouth closes around the fork and Bucky slides it from between is lips, slowly. “It’s good, right?”

“Mmm,” Steve agrees, swallowing the bite. “Yeah, it _was_ good.”

The waiter, who brings out the bill, interrupts them. Neither of them had thought to ask for separate bills.

“I’ll pay,” Steve offers.

“No, I got it,” Bucky insists. “I am going to be saving money on my insurance bill.”

 Steve laughs at Bucky’s lame attempt at a joke. “Are you sure? I can give you some cash, to cover my half?”

“No, I asked you out, I’ll pay,” Bucky says firmly.

Out in the parking lot, Bucky walks Steve to his car. It’s late now and the only light comes from lamp posts on either end of the small paved lot.

“I had great time,” Steve says, trying to breathe through the butterflies in his stomach. Working up his courage, he looks into Bucky’s eyes. He’s unable to stop himself from smiling and he feels a flutter of excitement when Bucky returns his smile.

“We should do this again,” Bucky says, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his smile widens.

Was it possible for this man to be any more attractive? “I’d like that,” Steve says, his heart leaping in his chest.

Bucky steps closer and Steve's heart nearly pops out of his chest as he realizes what Bucky intends to do. From a man with a mouth like that, he’s expecting nothing less than an amazing kiss and he’s not disappointed. Bucky presses him against the car, burying a hand in Steve’s hair as their mouths meet.

As the kiss grows deeper, Steve instinctively moves his hands towards Bucky’s hips, grasping them tightly. Bucky tastes like sweet chocolate cake and smooth beer and something Steve can’t describe.

The kiss seems to last for ages, until Steve realizes that the breathless feeling that’s overtaking him isn’t just making out with a super attractive guy in a dimly lit parking. It’s actually a real feeling of breathlessness.  He breaks the kiss reluctantly, fumbling in his pocket for his inhaler. “Sorry,” he wheezes as he shakes the inhaler and then takes a puff of the medicine.

Bucky looks at him with a horrified expression on his face. “Are you alright?”

Steve raises a finger, holding the medication in his lungs as long as he can. He finally exhales, his chest feeling less tight. “Sorry,” Steve says.

“Well, that’s a first,” Bucky says, reaching out to smooth down Steve’s hair.

“What, having an asthma attack ruin a make out session?”

“I was going to say it’s the first time I’ve ever kissed someone and literally taken their breath away.” Bucky says, grinning at Steve.

“Yeah, that does sound cooler,” Steve says, returning Bucky’s grin.

“So...I'll call you?” Bucky say after a pause.

“Okay,” Steve answers too quickly, hoping it didn’t sound too eager. Much the same way he’s hopping didn’t ruin things with his asthma. The way Bucky is still smiling at him says otherwise.

“And this time I’ll use your cell phone and not call you at work,” Bucky says mischievously.

“Probably a good idea,” Steve says, thinking of the fallout if Clint heard him talking to Bucky while he was on the clock. “Have a good night, Bucky.”

“You too, Steve.”

Bucky backs up a few steps and waits as Steve gets into the car. His heart is still racing and he can still feel Bucky’s lips on his but knowing Bucky is watching keeps him from collapsing against the steering wheel. Carefully, Steve backs out of the parking spot, waving to Bucky before driving away.

On the short drive home, Steve wonders where Bucky had parked his motorcycle, or if he had arrived in some other manner. He knew from his account that he didn’t live close enough to have walked… unless he did move like he was thinking of. If that was the case he probably _would_ be receiving a call at work from Bucky.


	4. Chapter Four

On Monday evening, Steve is getting ready for work when his phone rings. He snatches it up to answer it, hoping that it might be Bucky calling him back.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Steve, it’s Sharon, from work?”

At the sound of Sharon's voice, Steve lets out a rather disappointed sounding sigh. “Hello, Sharon,” he says. He wants to ask why she’s calling him, since they never really talk outside of work. “Uh, how’s it going?”

“Great! Really great actually. I’m calling you because I have a favor to ask.”

Steve has to hand it to her, she doesn’t waste any time. “What can I do for you, Sharon?”

“I'll just come right out and ask. I was wondering if you could switch days off with me? I cleared it with Clint, he says that if you agree to switch with me, it’s fine with him.”

Steve sighs again. Knowing Sharon, she’s probably only calling him because everyone else turned her down. “What day did you want to switch,” he asks. It’s not like has any plans at this point.

“Well, I know it’s last minute… but would you be able to switch with me tonight?” she asks sweetly.

“So, you want to work for me tonight?” he asks. “In exchange for what day?” he says, trying to sound accommodating.

“For Wednesday, would that be alright?” she asks.

“Sure, Sharon. I can do that. So you’re going in tonight then, you’re sure? I don’t want to get an irate phone call from Clint because neither of us showed up.”

“Don’t worry, Steve, I’ve got it covered. Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver!” she coos.

“Well, you’re just lucky I don’t have any plans,” Steve admits.

“I know.” Sharon’s voice is cheerful. “That’s why Clint suggested I call you, he was sure you wouldn’t have anything else to do.”

“Right, sure.” Of course Clint would say that. “Well, um, I’ve got to go, Sharon. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Steve. Thanks again!”

Knowing that he has the night off, Steve decides to take advantage of it. Grabbing his sketchbook and pencils, he heads up to the roof of his apartment building. It’s nothing special, just another flat rooftop. But it has some plastic chairs and a table and affords Steve a beautiful view of the city. It’s usually deserted this time of night, not that Steve would disturb anyone else who wants to enjoy the view.

Forty-five minutes later, he already has several pages of sketches and he’s actually glad that Sharon called him last minute. It isn’t the challenge of trying to capture the building across the street in the setting sun that makes him almost miss the sound of his phone ringing. Instead he’s busy sketching Bucky’s face from memory.

Even though he’s startled, Steve remembers to checks the screen first to see who’s calling. When he see’s Bucky’s name on the screen, he nearly drops his phone. After several seconds of fumbling, he manages to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Steve! It's Bucky.” He pauses. “I wasn’t sure when to call you; I hope I’m not bothering you at work.”

“Nope, you’re not bothering me at all.” Steve tries not to sound too excited, but he’s failing miserably. “I was supposed to work tonight, but a co-worker asked me to switch at the last minute. So you caught me at a good time.”

“Great! So what are you up to then, on your unexpected night off?”

“Just hanging out, sketching up on the roof of my apartment building. It’s got a really great view of the city,” Steve tells him.

“Awesome! It sounds like you’re really having fun. You get excited when you talk about art. It’s really cute, has anyone ever told you that?”

Steve blushes, glad Bucky can’t see him. “No, no one has ever told me that before.”

“Well, I’m telling you now,” Bucky says and then laughs.

“So what are you doing with your evening?”

“Nothing much now. I just got done with band practice, we were auditioning singers today.”

“Sounds like fun,” Steve says. He genuinely means it. He thinks it _would_ be fun to watch Bucky play guitar.

“Yeah, fun,” Bucky says with a snort. “Remember how you said no one wants to hear you sing? Well I haven’t heard your singing voice, but you can’t be any worse than some of the people we listened to today.”

“Ouch,” Steve says. “That bad, huh?”

“It wasn’t pretty, let me tell ya. But it’s over now, we may have found someone. So now I’m taking this pizza and six-pack that I picked up on my way home and you know what I’m gonna do Steve?”

“Eat pizza and drink beer?”

“Well, that is the plan. But you’ve inspired me Steve. I’m going to take it up to the roof of my apartment and enjoy the view.”

Steve smiles so wide he can feel his cheeks starting to hurt. “That sounds like a lot of fun. Won’t your roommate mind though? If you disappear up to the roof and don’t share the pizza and beer?”

“What? Oh, Natasha? Didn’t I tell you I found a place of my own? I told you I was thinking of moving, right?”

Steve recalls the conversation where Bucky had mentioned that. The same conversation where Natasha took over the phone and asked what he was wearing. “Yeah, that’s right, you did.”

“Yeah, it’s a nice little apartment. The building is pretty quiet. I guess I _will_ have to call you at work again, get all that multi-policy stuff sorted out.”

“Well, you know how to reach me,” Steve says laughing.

“I sure do. Hey, hang on a second Steve, I gotta put my phone down to open the door to the roof.”

“Sure,” Steve says, and he waits for Bucky to restart the conversation. While he’s waiting, holding the phone to his ear in silence, he hears the door to the roof opening behind him.

“Hey, want to hear something funny,” he says into the phone figuring Bucky can still hear him. “Someone’s coming out to the roof at my building.” Steve turns, looking to see who’s joining him on the roof at this hour.

He hears Bucky’s next words in stereo. “Yeah, that is pretty funny… Steve?”

Then the phone goes dead at his ear and Bucky’s voice says again. “Steve?”

“You live in this building?” Steve asks, smiling like a fool. “You moved into my building.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” Bucky says in reply, his voice a low murmur that sends shivers down Steve’s spine.

Steve’s momentarily distracted by Bucky’s attire. What he’s wearing is a lot more casual than either time he’s seen him before. Bucky’s outfit consists of a pair of heavily ripped jeans, a faded black t-shirt that’s so thin Steve is sure he sees right through it and those same black boots Bucky had worn at the diner. He does his best to get his mind out of the gutter, drops his sketchbook to the table and rushes over to Bucky.

They meet each other half-way between the door to the roof and the table. Bucky’s wearing that curling smile again and he’s holding back laughter.

“So, this is your beautiful rooftop view,” he says. “Will you share it with me?”

“Of course!” Steve says as he takes the pizza from Bucky’s hands and carries it to the table.

Setting the six-pack next to the pizza box, Bucky turns his head, bringing their mouths teasingly close and again that cat-like smile creeps across his face, unfurling a curl of warmth in Steve' stomach.

Bucky spots Steve’s sketchbook lying face down on the table. “What were you drawing while you were up here?” he asks as they sit down.

Steve blushes. “Ah, well… I started out drawing that building over there,” he points to a tall brownstone across the street with arched windows. “It’s a gorgeous work of architecture.”

“Yeah, that’s real pretty with the sun setting behind it,” Bucky agrees.

“I didn’t get far though,” Steve says with a gulp.

“Oh, why not?”

“I got distracted thinking about something even more gorgeous.”

Bucky looks around, scanning the skyline for other ornate buildings. “Which building was it then?”

“Not a building… I was drawing you.”

“No way. Lemme see?” Bucky asks.

“Nuh uh, you get to see my sketches when I get to hear your band play,” Steve says, shoving his sketchbook down into his chair and out of Bucky’s reach.

“Fair enough,” Bucky says, smiling roguishly. “I’ll let you know when we have our next practice.”

They share the pizza and beer, chatting easily about mundane things. It’s easy to lose track of time that way. It was already almost dark when Bucky showed up, now the sky is full of stars.

“I guess we should probably call it a night,” Steve says reluctantly. He knows he’ll be awake all night but he doesn’t want to keep Bucky up if he needs the sleep.

Bucky just sits there, sprawled out in the plastic chair. He looks at Steve and shrugs. “If you want to,” he says disappointedly.

“Well, it’s getting kind of hard to see,” Steve says, standing up. It’s a beautiful night but it really is hard to make out the details of Bucky’s gorgeous face. “Maybe… do you want to come back to my apartment?”

Bucky rises from his chair and steps closer, putting a hand on Steve's arm at the elbow, just below where his sleeve ends.

“I’d love to,” he says, his fingers tracing circles on Steve’s skin. “My apartment’s a mess anyway, I haven’t done much unpacking yet.”

“Right…” Steve trails off, forgetting what he said to Bucky, wondering what Bucky was agreeing too. He’s so distracted he can only wonder if Bucky feels the same tingle he does.

Bucky flashes him a grin. “Your apartment, he reminds Steve. “You lead the way.”

It’s a struggle to remember where his apartment is, but somehow Steve manages it. He knows that in a minute he and Bucky are going be kissing and he wants that, maybe more than he's ever wanted anything in his life.

He’s fumbling with his apartment key when he turns his head, finding Bucky’s face next to his.

“You do have the right apartment, don’t you?” Bucky murmurs.

“Yeah, sorry… I’m just nervous I guess.” Steve blurts out.

“What have you got to be nervous about?” Bucky asks quietly.

 “I’m nervous because I’m about to take a really hot guy into my apartment. It’s not something I do every day,” Steve says, licking his lips. He finally gets the key to work and opens the door so they can go inside. “So, it’s not much, but it’s home. I guess it’s a lot like your apartment.”

Bucky  puts the empty pizza box and six-pack container on the coffee table before he grabs Steve’s hand, lacing their fingers together. An amused grin crosses his face as Steve blushes. “Steve, stop being so nervous,” he says.

 Bucky's eyes are darker blue, more intense and Steve finds himself wishing he would just kiss him already.

As if he can read Steve’s mind, Bucky leads the way to the bedroom. These apartments really are all laid out the same.

Bucky’s fingers curl around his and Steve uses their clasped hands to pull Bucky closer. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Bucky whispers before leaning in so their lips meet in a kiss.

The kiss is just as good as the one they shared in the parking lot, better because they’re alone now. Steve’s mind is a blur of worry and self-doubt – Did I leave my sketchbook on the roof? What if Bucky isn’t serious about this. What if he really is a creep. What if he’s not interested in a relationship, just sex.  But the longer they kiss, the more those worries just melt away.

It starts slow. Steve is just enjoying the absolute pleasure of kissing Bucky. It’s something he's starting to realize he’ll never get enough of. Bucky kisses him soft and sweet, their tongues curling together. With a soft sigh, Bucky cups his hand behind Steve’s head, deepening the kiss.

Steve lets Bucky nudge him down onto the bed. He ends up sitting on the edge, and then Bucky’s hands are on his shoulders, and Steve lets Bucky push him onto his back. The bed’s soft and Bucky is warm on top of him and Bucky just keeps on fucking kissing him until suddenly he’s not. And then they’re just staring at each other, and Bucky is just so gorgeous, all bright eyes and kiss-swollen lips and Steve’s chest is aching as much as his cock.

Bucky’s fingers move to his hips, curling and twisting in the hem of Steve’s t-shirt suddenly, causing Steve to arch into Bucky’s body. He exposes a strip of flesh just above Steve’s waistband and Steve shudders as Bucky’s fingertips ghost over the revealed skin.

Bucky’s hands work along that small sliver of skin before disappearing beneath Steve’s t-shirt, dragging up his back and hiking his shirt along the way. Steve’s attention is divided between the way Bucky’s fingers are digging into his skin and Bucky’s mouth on his.

“I think,” Bucky begins, and then pauses to kiss Steve again. “I think we're both a little overdressed.” There’s a wicked gleam in Bucky's eyes that suggests he knows full well the effect he has on Steve.

Bucky shrugs off his t-shirt and lets it drop to the floor, while Steve fumbles with his own shirt. He makes the mistake of looking up and is momentarily distracted by  Bucky’s abs and the way his jeans sit low on his hips. He forces himself to look away and within moments, they've both kicked off shoes and pants and are down to their underwear. If Steve thought Bucky's abs were distracting, they were nothing compared to the curve of his cock.

Steve sits down on the edge of the bed as Bucky closes the distance between them again. Through heavy eyelashes, Steve looks up as he tugs the other man closer. When he curls his fingers into the waistband of Bucky's boxers, preparing to drag them down, Bucky is on him, claiming his mouth in a rough kiss while slipping a hand down the front of Steve's boxers.

In a series of quick movements, both of them shed the last scraps of their clothing and Steve drops his head back against the pillows with a wanton moan. At Bucky's choked-off curse, Steve twists fingers into Bucky’s hair and pulls their mouths together once more. Bucky’s lips parting in surprise, allowing Steve to lick his way slowly into Bucky’s mouth. Steve is impatient, wanting, Bucky seems to sense it, his tongue wrapping around Steve’s, and sucking until Steve is moaning into the kiss. Steve wants more, wants to touch, but their bodies are tight together, Bucky’s chest crushed against his so tightly he can feel the back and forth of their labored breathing.

He breaks the kiss, both of them gasping for air, and before Bucky can protest, Steve is kissing along his jaw and down his neck. The kisses easily turn from soft pecks to wet, open-mouthed drags and Steve’s fingers tighten their grip on Bucky’s back as he bucks up against him.

There’s no hiding how hard they both are, as close together as their bodies are. Steve gasps slightly, suckling at Bucky’s neck, eliciting a groan from Bucky. The sound sends sparks down Steve’s spine and motivates him to run the flat of his tongue up the side of Bucky’s neck.

“Steve,” Bucky moans, thrusting his hips in search of friction.

Steve focuses all his attention on attaching his mouth to that same patch of skin, running his tongue agonizingly slow over the same spot.

Bucky moans again as he shifts and pulls at Steve’s legs until they’re fitted together completely.

Bucky is saying something, but it takes a few moments for Steve to register the words. “Kiss me, kiss me,” he’s muttering.

Then Bucky presses forward with a hungry sound and Steve slots mouths together again. This time there’s no waiting, Bucky’s tongue thrusts hungrily into his mouth in a way that has Steve grinding against him with slow rolls of his hips.

Steve moans out a breathy “oh” as their cocks slide together. Bucky’s fingers claw down Steve’s back, just the blunt tips sliding on sweaty skin, but Steve is keening at the feel of it, his hips working faster as they fall into rhythm with Bucky’s.

Steve tries to steady himself against Bucky’s relentless kisses but it’s nearly impossible. Bucky is gasping Steve’s name into his mouth, a string of “fuck-yes-fuck-Steve-Steve-Steve” as his hips begin to thrust erratically against Steve’s and he pushes Steve down, harder, as their cocks rut together.

Their mouths part as they pant against each other. Just their lips touching without any real kissing. Bucky’s hands find Steve’s ass and he works them into a faster and faster pace. They fit so well together it’s like a dance, a carefully choreographed routine.

It’s slick and messy and all too soon, Steve feels a familiar tingling sweeping through him. He leans up, kissing Bucky desperately, shuddering with the force of his orgasm as he comes. He’s not verbal, he can’t seem to form any words but he’s moaning and Bucky’s mouth catches his cries. Bucky’s pace doesn’t slow, moving against Steve with urgency before he finally tenses and thrusts once, twice more before he arches against Steve, coming against their stomachs.

Their bodies still, wilting and curling around each other as they slump against the bed.

Steve rests his head on Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky strokes Steve’s arm where it lays across Bucky’s chest. His other arm wraps around Steve, tugging him closer until their pressed shoulder-to-toe, making Steve sigh in contentment.

They stay that way until Steve reluctantly slides from the bed, returning with a washcloth to clean them both off. The way Bucky sprawls out on his bed, staring at the ceiling, looking so comfortable and familiar makes Steve forget about any potential regret or awkwardness in the aftermath of what they’ve just done. He stands at the side of the bed, admiring the way Bucky’s satiated smile curls his lips.

“You coming back to cuddle, or do I have to make a fool out of myself and go home?” Bucky drawls lazily.

“You don’t have to go,” Steve says, returning to the bed and Bucky’s warm embrace. “You can stay the night, if like,” he offers.

“Mmm, I’d like that,” Bucky says, pulling Steve against his chest protectively.

They lay like this, together, Bucky’s eyes drifting closed. Steve is sure he’s asleep until Bucky opens his eyes and smiles lazily at him. “You know, I have a confession to make,” Bucky says groggily, sweeping Steve’s hair off his forehead before he plants a kiss there.

“What’s that?” Steve asks, his voice heavy and sated as he curls closer to Bucky.

“Well, after that first time I talked to you, months ago, after my motorcycle accident? I may have kind of been getting into accidents on purpose. So that I could call you,” he admits.

“What?” Steve’s voice is sharp, more alert now.

“Well, the first accident was really an accident, just you know, the couple of times after that… I maybe did it on purpose. After awhile Natasha figured out what I was doing and called me an idiot. That’s was the night I called you about my bill.”

“And here I thought Natasha was the crazy one. Sounds like it was you all along,” Steve laughs. “Well, crazy as that confession just made you sound, I’m glad she twisted your arm into asking me out,” Steve muses.

“Yeah, me too. We should probably send her a thank you card.” Bucky smiles and kisses Steve’s cheek.

Steve smirks slightly, peering up at Bucky. “And we’re neighbors now, so now you won’t have to get into accidents just for an excuse to talk to me,” he says.

Bucky smirks, leaning down to kiss Steve sweetly. “That’s going to make my life so much easier.”

Steve laughs, unable to keep a straight face. “Like a good neighbor, Steve Rogers is there,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole thing was written in about a day and a half and is unbeta'd so any mistakes are my own and I reserve the right to come back and fix them later :)
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at [lovealetterbomb](http://lovealetterbomb.tumblr.com/)
> 
> So apparently I have a thing for writing these two in AU's, it's entirely too much fun. I'm always up for taking other prompts too!


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